I70
by element78
Summary: AU, Slash- If life really is a highway, Dean's sitting on the shoulder with four flat tires. Fortunately, he's not there alone.
1. East Bound

A/N: This, below, is what I do when I need a break from long plotty thinky stories like Parallax- I write pure, plotless smut, with the sole intention of making every one of my former English teachers cry. Seriously, people, I ought to be arrested for comma abuse. It started as a monster one-shot, but I chopped it in half, both to make it manageable and because the tone changes enough that it warranted it.

Warnings: Quite a few, so far. Rated M for a reason. Swearing. Slash. Canon het pairings- DeanxCassie in this half. A bit of rough sex, although nothing too serious. Bad car metaphors. Underage drinking, because it's college. I think that's it.

If you quote your favorite line, you get a cyber cookie.

* * *

><p>The first time Castiel and Dean meet- the real first time, not what they think of as their first time- is on a plane. Dean had already been a nervous flyer at seven, and unfortunately, he had been sitting behind five-year-old Castiel, and had taken to kicking the back of his chair in order to share the discomfort he could not dismiss. Ultimately they ended up lobbing honey-roasted peanuts at each other over the headrest of Castiel's seat, Castiel's older brother Gabriel encouraging their little war by slipping both boys a second bag of ammunition. As the Winchesters were taking a connected flight on the same plane, they stayed on board while Castiel's family got off, thus meaning the two boys never actually laid eyes on each other.<p>

So Castiel and Dean meet without ever really meeting a good fifteen years before their second first meeting.

* * *

><p>The second meeting is at college.<p>

Sam started there in the fall. It's a state college, not Stanford like he'd wanted but oh well, and Dean is in full support of this college thing because my god the parties he's invited to, as the cool older brother of the cute freshman. He visits in January as a sort of late holiday thing and ends up staying for eleven days, a good nine days longer than he'd planned.

Because of some student housing SNAFU, Sam gets to share an apartment with an older student. He's weird, is all Sam will say about him- weird but quiet, and the token protest about how Sam himself is not the former and the latter can actually be a good thing every once in a while.

Dean starts out with a cheap hotel room but ends up crashing on the couch of Sammy's apartment. 'Quiet' does the roommate justice, he thinks- there are very clear signs of two people living here, but it takes Dean six of those eleven days to actually meet the guy. Once he does, it's by accident. The first time since he's been there that he gets up early enough to need breakfast, he encounters the roommate in the kitchen.

All Dean really notices is blue eyes and pale skin and dark hair. He introduces himself as Castiel and Dean thinks that Castiel's voice is everything that is great about sex. He sounds hoarse, like he's been crying out all night, and the tousled hair and sleepy hooded eyes and that voice are working in tandem and doing funny things to Dean's libido.

Then Castiel says he has an early class and leaves with a simple _goodbye Dean_ and Dean jerks off in the shower to the memory of what that rasping voice does to his name.

* * *

><p>The last night he's there, they get invited to a party at a frat house. Sam goes in order to tut in disapproval at his drunken slob of a brother, only to end up one himself. Dean isn't sure how it happened- he only took his eyes off the kid for three seconds and Sam disappears. He finds Sam an hour later sitting in a kiddie pool full of green jello with a redhead nibbling on his earlobe.<p>

Dean leaves him there- the kid isn't going anywhere, even if he could move- and goes looking for help, because Sammy is freakin' _huge_ and only looking to get bigger and gone are the days when Dean could pick him up and sling him around like a stuffed toy.

He isn't quite sure what to make of it when he encounters Castiel. It's not really his scene, apparently. Castiel's shoulders are up by his ears and he's holding his bottle of beer like he's going to use it to cave in the skull of anyone who dares to approach. Dean decides two rescues are in order and goes over to him, watching the beer warily just in case, and requests his help. Castiel is almost desperately grateful to get out of there.

Between the two of them, they manage to convince Sam to leave the jello pool and start staggering on home. He collapses before he gets a hundred feet and both Dean and Castiel end up with one arm over their shoulders, hauling the deadweight that is Sam Winchester, who has never imbibed before and likely never will again.

Castiel is drunk, Dean realizes somewhere along the way. Dean himself in a comfortably buzzed state. But Castiel is odd- he looks and sounds sober, but his eyes are too bright and he stares at Dean in a more direct manner than normal and his words are more carefully pronounced, as if overcorrecting to prevent slurring, and his movements a little too controlled.

They make it back to the apartment, which is enough of an accomplishment that they call it quits in the living room and drop Sam, falling-tree-style, onto the couch.

"You can take his room tonight," Castiel says, as Dean contemplates going and getting a beer out of the fridge- since clearly that's what he needs right now, more alcohol.

"You know, if you were a girl, I'd do you," Dean tells him, because somehow it's relevant to what Castiel just said, and Castiel blinks at him.

"But I'm not," he says, with the infallible logic of the drunk man.

"So now what?" Dean asks, and Castiel shrugs.

"You're the one imposing restrictions," he says, and it really shouldn't be that hot that someone so drunk could pronounce three-dollar words. But it is. And suddenly Dean is kissing him.

He could lie and say it was a great kiss. He could exaggerate and say it was a good kiss. In the defense of both parties, they're drunk, and judging from Castiel's reaction it's not quite his first kiss, but it's close enough.

Dean pulls away a little, catches his breath and herds Castiel back against the wall. He carefully places his hands on either side of Castiel's face, wary of possible retaliation. Those big blue eyes blink at him, expectant and patient. Dean slides his hands back a little, tangling his fingers in that dark hair and resting his thumbs on Castiel's jaw. Then he leans in again, urging Castiel's mouth open with slight pressure from his thumbs.

With Dean coaxing and coaching, Castiel figures out what he's doing right and wrong quickly enough. He grips tight at Dean's shirt and rolls his body, waist to shoulder, against Dean's and Dean gasps into Castiel's mouth. Then Castiel slips one leg between Dean's thighs, slides his hands down to Dean's waist and pulls, encouraging Dean's grinding against him, and Dean almost whimpers.

Then he pushes away, hard and panting and wanting nothing more than to strip Castiel naked and fuck him into the wall.

But Sam is in the room, is _right there_, and though he's a single shot of tequila and a beer chaser away from comatose, he could wake up at any second, probably will right when things are getting most interesting because little brothers are contrary bastards like that. And they are entering into serious mental scarring territory here.

"Right, so I'll just…" Dean begins, gesturing blankly over his shoulder towards the bedrooms.

"Good night, Dean," Castiel says, and it really isn't fair that he doesn't sound bothered in the least by the sudden halt to something that had been getting interesting.

* * *

><p>Sam has the Hangover From Hell the following morning. Dean is unsympathetic, as he's battling his own demons- namely, the 'I could've gotten laid last night but had to do the noble thing instead' guilt. Self-control is overrated, and such a bitch.<p>

Castiel is gone. Dean supposes he should be grateful that temptation has removed itself. Instead he remembers the feel of Castiel's thick soft hair, the taste of his mouth, the blue eyes narrowed and smiling.

He leaves that day, once he's sure Sam isn't going to do something stupid like chug a glass of drain cleaner in order to escape the pain. It's well past time he moves on, anyways, and to be perfectly honest Sam is better off without him hanging around too much.

It occurs to him, about forty miles out, that he'll probably never see Castiel again. It's enough that he eases off the gas, considers turning around- no regrets, that's how he likes it, and not taking Castiel when he had the chance is looking like one that'll hang around for a good long while.

Instead, he turns south.

* * *

><p>Dean is a transitory, a moving target. He lives out of his beloved '67 Impala and crappy motel rooms with questionable stains on every surface. He does odd jobs in the various towns, works as a bartender or handyman when the finances call for it, plays poker and hustles pool and occasionally signs for a credit card with a name borrowed from a rock star or a movie character.<p>

When his wandering takes him into the land of southern belles and honeyed accents, he hooks up with Cassie. It's not the healthiest thing he could manage- the sex on a good day is great, but the make-up sex is always incredible, so they're always breaking up over stupid little things- but's it reliable, in its own fucked up way.

He's there for three days before they have their first big blowup. For a few hours, Dean makes himself at home in the bar, where they know him well enough to not need to ask. Then Cassie comes and gets him, manages to lift his keys when he's not looking and threatens the welfare of the one girl that always comes first, and the bartender rolls his eyes and says yes Dean I'll put it on your tab before Dean can even ask.

Small towns. Gotta love 'em.

They make up in the back seat of the Impala, which has always been one of Dean's favorites. He lets her pin him down, and remembers the flavor of control in the kiss with Castiel, the feeling of a strong male body tucked between Dean and the wall, the strength in the hands on Dean's body, the stubble against his skin. He remembers leaning into Castiel harder than he would dare with a woman.

Cassie rides him hard enough that the car shakes. And Dean lets her, because she isn't strong enough to take it. And when she comes, he superimposes a pair of wide blue eyes over her brown eyes, a rough harsh sex-blown voice gasping out his name, and when he goes over the edge after her he has to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood to stop himself saying the wrong name.

* * *

><p>He goes wandering again a few days later. Cassie's too used to it to care, although he sees the sadness in her eyes as he drives away and figures one of these times she won't welcome him back. Maybe one day he'll turn up and she'll have a tasteful diamond on her left ring finger. Or maybe one day he'll turn up and she'll tell hms this isn't healthy and he really needs to settle down and not necessarily with her. Or maybe one day he just won't turn up at all.<p>

He meanders his way up to Sioux Falls and bugs the crap out of Bobby for a week or two before taking his show on the road and drawing a big looping circle over the country, hitting just about every state with more than a hundred miles of national border. Then he turns to the beating heart of the country and parks it at the Roadhouse in Nebraska.

Ellen isn't thrilled to see him, never really is, he reminds her too much of his daddy and there is serious history there. But he begs forgiveness for whatever it is John Winchester did that Dean's catching crap for and Ellen reluctantly allows him to crash on the cot in the back room for however long he chooses to stay there.

She tells him, straight-faced and terrifyingly calm, that she will cut his balls off and mount them on a plaque on the wall if he so much as looks at her daughter.

Jo is a tiny little thing, petite and blonde and delicate-looking- even though she isn't delicate, is in fact most likely tougher than Dean himself. Dean isn't terribly concerned, since blonde and tiny isn't really the way his tastes have been trending lately.

He works as a bartender-cum-bouncer, even though Ellen and her old friend Remy the Double Barrel do a fair job of handling the crowd on their own. The men get rowdy fairly often, because it's that kind of crowd and that's what guys do. Dean only steps in if the tussling is bothering the regulars.

He gets a call from Sam, one day in early May. He's got a late admission in to Stanford and is transferring schools come summer. By then Dean's managed to mostly put it out of his head but when Sam tells him that, the memories all come rushing back in a blur of green jello and cheap tequila, and Dean spends an uncomfortably long time that night remembering how Castiel had looked last time Dean had seen him, with mussed-up hair and hooded eyes, looking very well-kissed and so fuckable and god _damn_ Dean's an idiot.

He tells Ellen his baby brother's moving cross-country and he needs to go help, and she believes him because he doesn't lie about Sammy. She tells him there's always room here for him, and he promises to return. She knows him well enough to translate that correctly- he'll roll into town again someday, but he makes no promises on when or how long he'll be here.

Then he goes back to college.

* * *

><p>Sam is suspicious when Dean shows up on his doorstep. But Dean possesses no alternative motives Sam can identify- he asks, very carefully, about parties and girls and gets a negative every time, and somehow it never occurs to him to ask if Dean's actually here to screw his roommate's brains out. So Sam takes his presence as some sort of unexpected gift from on high, and promptly puts Dean to work as his packhorse.<p>

Castiel is there. Dean catches sight of him a few times, watches Castiel notice him in turn. There's recognition and a hint of something else in those blue eyes, but what that says about Dean's odds, he can't tell.

It takes him a few days to get Castiel alone for any length of time- goddamn college schedules- and once he manages it, he almost chickens out, because Castiel is giving him literally nothing in terms of cues. Still, he gets the plastic bag he'd gotten at a nearby pharmacy out of the car, because there's nothing wrong with hope, and goes to knock on Castiel's bedroom doorframe, since the door itself is open.

"So I left in kinda a hurry last time," he says, when Castiel looks at him. "I just wanted to say, it had nothing to do with you."

The kid could take Vegas for all its money with that poker face of his. Dean is getting absolutely nothing from him.

"This is where you say something," Dean says after a small eternity of awkward silence. He isn't sure Castiel is even blinking.

"Did you want something?" Castiel asks.

"To finish what we started," Dean offers, because you don't get anything if you never ask.

And it pays off once more, because Castiel pushes away from his desk and gives Dean a long, measuring look.

"Fine," he says finally, and it's not exactly the most gracious invitation he's ever gotten, but Dean has done more with less.

Castiel has gotten better at kissing, Dean discovers. For some insane reason that bothers him, imagining Castiel practicing with someone else, kissing someone, sleeping with them, and for no reason he can understand it irritates him. He yanks Castiel out of his chair and pulls him in tight, hand fisting in that dark hair, the kiss growing aggressive. Castiel fights him back, his own hands tugging at Dean's clothes, fumbling uncoordinatedly at Dean's belt.

It becomes a race, seeing who can get the other's clothes off fastest. Dean ought to win, since Castiel is wearing only a t-shirt and sweatpants, but Castiel cheats. He gets Dean's shirt off and drops to his knees and Dean's brain promptly short-circuits as Castiel shoots him a quick, smug look.

He doesn't realize he's backed up against the wall until Castiel wraps his lips around the head of Dean's cock and the back of Dean's skull impacts the wall. He barks out an oath and Castiel _chuckles_ and he never realized he could actually see stars shooting off like that. Castiel is tugging his jeans down and Dean gasps and puts his hand on Castiel's head, holding him in place and rocking his hips a bit. Then Castiel's hands are free, and he is far too good at this to have never done it before.

"Get up," Dean orders breathlessly, catching Castiel's wrist and tugging. Castiel gives him one last lick and rises to his feet, and he's licking his lips and Dean can't stop himself grabbing Castiel's shirt and pulling him in for another kiss.

They tumble onto the bed, which isn't really the best idea because it groans warningly, and Dean puts concentrated effort into removing Castiel's clothing. Then he goes back to his jeans and grabs the plastic bag out of the pocket and dumps the lube and condom pack onto the bedside table. Castiel watches him, big blue eyes wide with eagerness and perhaps a touch of fear, and Dean leans in and kisses him again, until Castiel is calm and pliant under him.

He nips at Castiel's neck, at the sensitive skin just under his ear, while reaching over with one hand and grabbing the lube. He's never actually done this before, but the concept isn't all that complicated. When he slides the first finger in Castiel gasps and Dean freezes, because he knows his feel-good sounds and that was not one of them. Then Castiel moans, hands on Dean's shoulder, and rocks down against him, and Dean smiles at him.

The condoms are in a box and Dean has never realized how rebellious cardboard can be. He fights it for almost a full minute before Castiel says something, probably something very unkind, and grabs the box out of his hands. He gets it open in three seconds flat, naturally, and pulls one packet out and rips it open with his teeth. He then slaps Dean's hands away and rolls it on himself, which is something no one else has ever done to Dean. He takes his time at it, too, teasingly, and kisses Dean's thigh once he's done.

Dean pulls him away, flips him over onto his stomach, settles in behind him, then pauses. Castiel looks back at him, over his shoulder, and gives him a tiny reassuring smile. He pushes in slowly, one hand on Castiel's hip to control him, but Castiel isn't interested in fighting. He gives a bone-deep, shuddering sigh, as if this is something he has been waiting a long time for.

Once he's inside he stops, trying to compose himself so he doesn't rush this, only Castiel _moans_ and Dean can't fight that. He starts moving, slowly at first, and Castiel is beautifully responsive, gasping and moaning and bucking up into him. Dean moves faster, tempo increasing until he's thrusting almost savagely into Castiel, and he wouldn't even have noticed how rough he's being if Castiel hadn't put a hand against the wall because if he braces himself against the headboard it'll punch a hole through the wall.

He pauses then, brief flash of guilt, and ignores Castiel's whimper.

"If I'm being too rough," he begins, and Castiel looks over his shoulder, giving him an unfriendly glare.

"If you stop, I will kill you," he says casually, in a _just so you know_ sort of way, and Dean presses his laugh against Castiel's shoulder. Then he moves again, and Castiel groans and rolls against him. Dean slides his hand down Castiel's hip and wraps his fingers around Castiel's cock and god, the noise he makes then.

Three more hard thrusts, accompanied by three strokes, is all it takes. Castiel is arching up into him, hand tight around Dean's wrist, and crying out in that wreck of a voice of his, and it's better than anything Dean has imagined. Dean transfers both hands to Castiel's hips and drives into him, even harder, twice more before he's coming as well.

They collapse into a boneless, sated heap together. Dean can feel Castiel's fine tremors and tugs him in close, tucking Castiel's head against his neck. He'd left bruises scattered across that fair skin, he sees, and wonders if there is someone else who will see them.

"We are doing this again," Castiel says.

"Oh yeah," Dean agrees.

"But not right away. I have a class in twenty minutes."

Dean laughs a little at that, glances at the bedside clock.

"Good luck with that," he says.

* * *

><p>It takes some effort, but Dean manages to get Castiel to himself at least once a day. They explore each other, with fingers and mouths and words because Castiel's not an idiot and can clearly see that his voice has a profound effect on Dean, finding out what the other likes, what makes them gasp and twitch and buck up off the bed like they've just touched a live wire.<p>

Sam has a day-long class one Saturday, and Dean takes full advantage of it. He pins Castiel down and proceeds to torture both of them, using long slow strokes until Castiel is too close to do anything more than shudder and beg. And Dean keeps him right there, until he's only producing broken little noises that might have once been words, and Dean can't remember what it was like when every nerve in his body wasn't begging for release.

It's one of the best times in Dean's life.

* * *

><p>"You could call me Cas, the way everyone else does," Castiel says to him one time.<p>

Dean frowns, wonders why it hasn't occurred to him before. Then he shrugs.

"I'm not everyone else," he says, fingers tracing the line of his collar bone under his skin, and Castiel shivers and gasps and nods.

* * *

><p>Sam finds out, of course. It's not as awkward as walking in on them, although that might have been preferable, since that would mean Sam would either have to avoid them for the foreseeable future or die of embarrassment. No, he figures it out because he's not an idiot, and one morning he sits down across the crappy kitchen table from Dean and does a Bitch Face Dean has never seen before.<p>

"Please tell me I'm completely misreading everything and you aren't actually sleeping with him," he says. Dean takes another spoonful of Froot Loops and shrugs.

"Sure thing, dude, but I'd be lyin'."

"I don't- Is that why you're here? Because you have this- this- _thing_ with my roommate?"

"Nope," Dean says around another mouthful of cereal, because Sam's brain is riding the clutch and the fastest way to end this conversation is to stall it out. "That didn't start 'til this time."

"_I don't want to know_," Sam half-screeches, and Dean gives a sharp little laugh.

"Then why'd you ask?" He leans over to grab the cereal box and pours more on top of the multi-hued glop congealing in his bowl. "You owe us, anyway. We only stopped last time 'cause you were there."

"You were-" Sam begins. He makes an odd, arm-waving sort of gesture, as if to take flight.

"Night of the party. Remember that? You were passed out on the couch."

"You were making out in the apartment while I was there?"

"Dude, we were in the same _room_," Dean tells him.

Mission accomplished. Sam stares at him, wide-eyed and horrified, and gets up. He's almost out the door when he does one of those full-body shivers.

Dean gets a new bowl and congratulates himself on a job well done.

* * *

><p>School ends not long after that, and Sam and Dean have to leave to schlep Sam's crap to California. Castiel, lacking a roommate, isn't sure if he's staying in the apartment. It's looking like goodbye for real, except Castiel stops Dean just before he leaves and hands him a green post-it note with a number.<p>

"My sister," he says. "She'll put you in touch with me. If you're ever in town, stop by."

"Good. Uh," and Dean pauses, glances around, looks back at Castiel without meeting those blue eyes. "You know I'm not…"

"Interested in commitment?" Castiel finishes for him, when it's apparent Dean has run out of steam. "I noticed, Dean. I'm not asking you to change."

Dean kinda falls in love, just a little bit, right there.

* * *

><p>And for a few years, thus is life.<p>

Dean gets Castiel's new number from his sister, Anna, and stops by whenever he gets that itch no woman can scratch. If Castiel's number doesn't go through, for whatever reason, Dean calls Anna again and she gives him the new one. He has no idea what she knows about this, what she thinks about Dean. And if Castiel is in any way unhappy with their arrangement, he never says so to Dean.

It never occurs to Dean to wonder about it, about how Castiel never seems to change or move on. He's just happy someone is stuck in neutral with him.

Sam gets taller and broader and meets a girl named Jess and promises dire, painful things if Dean even thinks about causing trouble with her. Ellen finds herself a mulleted live-in genius named Ash who does something for the Roadhouse, Dean is never quite sure what. Bobby gets older and more cantankerous. And Castiel always, inevitably, remains the same.

Then it all changes.


	2. West Bound

A/N: And the second half. I tweaked a bit here and there, and added a few whole sections, so it's a bit longer than the first half. I expect no complaints.

As stated, the tone changes, becoming less funny and… porny? Is that a word?… and more serious. And Dean is kinda an idiot, but we all love him anyways. There is a lot less smut in this chapter than I would like, except that's because I took a pretty big chunk of it and relocated it. There's something of an epilogue after this chapter, if y'all want it.

Warnings: Not so drastic this time. Still more sex, slash. Another canon pairing- DeanxLisa this time. Mentioned canon character death.

* * *

><p>John Winchester is- was- not so much a man as a force of nature.<p>

Widowed far too early, left to raise two young sons on his own, John had done what he best knew, and related everything to battlefield scenarios. He raised his sons like they lived in a military base rather than a roomy old two-story on the edge of a college town in Kansas.

After 'Nam, and then Mary, John had always relied a little too heavily on the bottle to get by. He took off, some days, took off and just disappeared and generally came back after whatever dark mood had overcome him had passed. He depended upon the mercy of his boss to keep him in a job, because she couldn't toss him out when he was so clearly at a loss and had two boys to take care of. He was almost pitiful in some ways, a strong man broken and never quite reassembled properly.

This laid out the basic groundwork for his children- Sammy the good boy, who goes to college and has a nice sweet girlfriend and does everything his father tells him to, and Dean the rebel, who travels the country and can't maintain a steady job for more than two months and in essence became his father. Without the almost-pitiful parts, of course.

He was like a storm, a hurricane, and like all storms he hit land and began weakening, and finally simply faded away.

* * *

><p>Sam is at the funeral, of course. He brought this cute little blonde thing, upturned nose and mole between her eyes and classic heart-shaped face, and reluctantly introduces them. Dean is still feeling too shell-shocked to make anything more than the obligatory crude comment, half-hearted at best, and goddamn Sammy gives him a knowing, almost sympathetic, look.<p>

Their father was not supposed to _die_. He was supposed to live forever, a distant figure in Dean's emotional landscape, always there but never close enough to truly interact. Dean can't fit this into his world, can't find the ground again under his feet.

It's raining, as they lower him into the ground, a gentle sort of grey drizzle- Kansas in the springtime, what can ya do- and Dean blinks the water off his eyelashes. Had it been a sunny day, his face would be dry as bone.

"Here." Ellen, who came for her boys more than their father, presses her umbrella into his hand, then reaches over and pushes it over his head. She's the closest thing to a mother Dean has ever known. Then she retreats to Sam's side, because Dean had put a very emphatic distance between himself and everyone else.

* * *

><p>"What now?" Sam asks, as they walk over to the cars. The two girls- women, whatever- fall back to give them privacy.<p>

"What now, what do you mean, what now?" Dean counters, and Sam gives him Bitch Face No. 21, Are You Being Purposefully Dense?

"Dad's gone, Dean," Sam says, as though he might not have noticed. "Is that going to make a difference, or is it business as usual with you?"

"Didn't make a difference when Dad was alive," Dean says.

Sam sighs- good ol' Bitch Face No. 1, I Am Embarrassed To Admit Relation To You. "Seriously, Dean, this needs to stop."

"Why?" Dean turns on his heel, abrupt and vicious and up in Sam's face even if he is a friggin' sasquatch, and sees Ellen put a hand on blondie's arm and do an immediate about-face, dragging the girl away despite her protests.

"You're twenty-eight, Dean. You're a little too old for the rebellious teenager phase anymore," Sam snaps, holding his ground admirably. "A lot of people do the 'screw college, I'm taking a year and living for myself' thing, but they take a _year_, not a decade. You need to do something with your life, something real."

"What, like law school? Find myself a cute little cheerleader chick and study twelve hours a day?" Dean asks, incredulous. "That's not me, Sam. Never has been and never will be."

"I'm not saying do this, I'm just saying do something."

"I am doing something," Dean begins, and Sam gives an incredulous laugh.

"You're not living, you're _existing_, and if you can't see the difference-"

"If I'm happy, what the hell difference does it make?"

"You're not happy, Dean!" Sam bellows, and everyone within a five-mile radius freezes and stares at them. "You're miserable, and for some reason you're the only one who can't see it!"

Dean opens his mouth, snaps it shut, shakes his head and turns to keep walking. Behind him, Sam lets his breath out in an explosive sigh, gives a tired groan.

"Dean, I'm sorry," he starts.

"Forget it," Dean says instantly, because he's never been all that good at the emotional crap.

"Seriously-"

"Seriously, just forget it," Dean orders, glancing back over his shoulder.

Sam looks like he's just been proven right, and he's not remotely happy about it.

* * *

><p>He leaves the next morning, because it's all riding too close to the surface and neither he nor Sam knows how to handle the whole thing in the cemetery.<p>

The great thing about Kansas is, unless you're driving to Maine, everything is within a one-day drive if you're willing to push the speed limit and up your caffeine intake. So Dean can go anywhere in the continental US and be there in time to bury himself- in a bottle of booze, in a warm body, or even both, at this point he isn't picky.

He can't really say why he points himself towards that college town where he first met Castiel, except that it's just what he needs.

* * *

><p>Normally Dean calls a day or so ahead of time, instead of just showing up on Castiel's doorstep, so he can't blame the guy for being a little confused when he opens the door and finds Dean.<p>

"Dean, what-?" is as far as he gets, because he's right there and those eyes are so very blue and even after six years that voice still does unspeakable things to Dean.

So he grabs Castiel, pulls him in and kisses him, hard and desperate and hungry. And Castiel responds beautifully, like always, and for a moment they teeter in the doorway, off-balance. Except Castiel's apartment is on the second floor, and the stairs are somewhere behind Dean, and as a cracked skull is no one's idea of foreplay Dean catches his weight on the balls of his feet and pushes forward, into the apartment.

They impact the wall hard enough that Dean can hear things rattle in another room. Dean moves on down to Castiel's neck, leaving him gasping and panting, and slides his hands up under Castiel's shirt.

Then Castiel makes an odd sound, like he's just remembered something, and catches at Dean's hand.

"Dean, wait," he says, and before Dean can lift his lips away from Castiel's pulse point and ask why, he hears the sound of footsteps approaching.

"Cas, who was- oh."

They go still, Castiel looking over Dean's shoulder with wide eyes. Dean can't look, but he can't _not_ look, and so lifts his head and glances back.

There's a woman standing there, staring at them. She looks away, blushes prettily. Castiel takes hold of Dean's other hand and pushes him gently away.

"I'll just-" the woman says, pointing to the living room. She's very pretty, Dean sees, with pale skin and long limbs and hair so red it can't be real. There's something familiar about her, but he can't place it. She heads into the living room and Castiel follows, giving Dean a quick _stay there or else_ look.

Dean turns and puts his back to the wall, slouching a little. He almost feels sick, jealousy and guilt battling for supremacy. He'd always known there was a possibility that Castiel had someone else, a steady girlfriend perhaps, and right up until just now he'd been perfectly okay with it.

Then they're back, the woman now with her shoes on and a jacket slung over her arm. She sends Dean a quick, studying look, and he smiles weakly at her in return. She isn't acting like a woman who just found her boyfriend making out with another guy in the hallway, but some girls are actually pretty cool with things like that.

"I'm sorry about this," Castiel says, and he doesn't sound like a guy whose girlfriend just caught him making out with another guy.

"It's all right," she says. "I'll call later."

Castiel nods, and she smiles at him, a sad smile, and puts a hand on his cheek in a way that seems almost maternal. And Dean suddenly sees it- the resemblance. This woman looks familiar because she's Castiel, Version XX. Sister. Not girlfriend.

A very mean part of his mind goes limp and heaves a mental sigh of relief.

"Take care of yourself," she says to Castiel, who nods once, gravely. Then she leaves, giving Dean another unreadable look as she passes him.

"So that was Anna?" Dean asks, when the sound of the car has faded away. Castiel looks at him and nods, then heads back into the living room. This time Dean follows.

"Dude, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"She knows about you, Dean," Castiel says, sounding almost amused.

"Yeah." Dean falls silent, looking around. He's been here before, but never has he needed to study the walls because he'd just humiliated himself. "What'd she mean, take care of yourself?"

Castiel doesn't answer. He stands in the middle of the room, looking at a loss as to what to do now.

"You usually call before coming out here," he says, instead of answering. It's almost a question.

"Sorry, I guess I'm a little out of it." When Castiel looks at him curiously, he explains. "My dad's funeral was yesterday."

"Oh." He clearly has no idea how to respond to that, and looks like he regrets asking, so Dean rescues him.

"It's okay. We weren't real close."

Silence again.

"You don't mind if I crash here for a few days, do you?" Dean asks, as if they haven't done this before, and Castiel shakes his head.

* * *

><p>They end up eating takeout pizza and drinking beer and watching TV to the small hours of the morning. There's a <em>Bones<em> marathon on, and while it's such a chick show Dean can't help but gag on it sometimes, it has a sort of hypnotizing quality, like a Zamboni going round a hockey rink. Castiel empathizes a bit too much with the show's emotionless robot of a main character and Dean spends a bit too much time watching him, eyes reflecting the motion on the television screen and brow furrowed in concentration as he attempts to puzzle out the nuances of human behavior.

Castiel gets up and goes to the bathroom as the final episode in the run is ending. Dean squirms around a bit on the couch, stretching as best he can. His original plans for the evening had been effectively ruined by the unpleasant surprise of Castiel's sister, but this had been nice. It had gone far better than most of Dean's real dates.

Then the TV shuts off and Castiel comes around the front of the couch, dropping the remote on the floor, and pushes Dean down so he's lying on the couch. Castiel puts one knee down next to Dean's waist, and leans down and kisses him. Dean tries to take control, wraps one hand around Castiel's neck and tries to get the other under the waistband of his jeans, but Castiel pushes it away. He pulls away, gets to work on Dean's clothes. Dean lifts his hips off the couch when Castiel tugs his jeans down, worms out of his shirt without too much effort.

For a moment Dean feels strangely vulnerable- he's naked on the couch, but Castiel has yet to take anything off. He's about to say something, but Castiel shushes him and kisses him right in the hollow where neck and shoulder meet and slides his hands up Dean's ribs, dragging his nails just enough to make Dean twitch.

They know each other by this point, know what the other likes and doesn't. Castiel puts this knowledge to use and proceeds to drive Dean crazy with kisses and light touches, the occasional brush of teeth and nails. He kisses the tender skin of Dean's wrist and slips a hand under him, fingers tickling the small of his back before tracing feather-light up his spine, and Dean arches upwards. And every time Dean reaches for Castiel, his hands get pushed away.

"Damn, Castiel, you're killin' me here," he pants, and Castiel smiles at him. Then he moves down to Dean's as-yet-untouched cock and moves himself to a better angle.

Dean can see where this is going. "Dude," he says, "you do that, I won't…"

"I know," Castiel says, and deep-throats him like a pro.

It's one of the most beautiful things Dean has ever seen.

He forces himself not to buck up into Castiel's mouth, forces himself to stay still and watch that dark head bobbing up and down. Then Castiel does something like humming and Dean tosses his head back, one fist curled into the cushion. He doesn't feel the steadying hand leaving his hip until one spit-slick finger brushes against his balls, goes further back. Castiel pauses and Dean glances down at him, meets questioning blue eyes.

"God yes," he pants, and gets a smile in reward. Then Castiel's finger slides into him and Dean leaves the couch again. Fortunately, Castiel had expected this, and moves with him. The hand wrapped around the base of his cock moves to his stomach and pushes him back down. Castiel's mouth leaves him and he literally whines.

"Stay," Castiel orders, and when Dean doesn't reply, he twists that finger, just a bit. "Dean?"

"I'm staying," Dean says, when he remembers how to form words, and Castiel goes back to what he was doing and God, Dean had missed this.

Then Castiel slides a second finger inside him, and there's nothing but a rush of white and noise.

When he comes back to himself, he finds Castiel taking his clothes off, so hard it had to hurt.

"You didn't have to do that," Dean says, and Castiel just shrugs and smiles. Dean catches him by the hand, pulls him over and he drops on top of Dean. There's a moment of squirming and then they're kissing like their lives depend on it. Castiel rolls his hips a little, testing, and Dean wraps his hand around Castiel's cock and strokes. The younger man gives a helpless little whimper, face buried against Dean's shoulder, rocking into Dean's grip. Dean reaches down just as Castiel reaches up. Their hands catch each other, fingers tangled together, and Castiel is gasping against Dean's shoulder and thrusting into his hand and coming, so hard, and Dean hadn't realized how much he needs this.

It takes them well over an hour to make it to bed.

* * *

><p>"So tell me about your father," Dean says abruptly, as they're settling comfortably around each other to sleep. It's a bad idea, obviously, as Castiel instantly goes still, and Dean can feel his muscles coiling as if he's preparing to bolt.<p>

"Why?" he asks warily.

"Because you never talk about him. You never talk about anything."

"I thought that was how you preferred it," Castiel says, and even though there's no censure or judgment in his tone, Dean still feels about three inches tall.

"Humor me."

There's a long silence. Dean can feel that intense gaze on him.

Then Castiel says, "I prefer not to talk about my family. With anyone."

Dean remembers Anna, remembers her sad smile, and thinks he might not be the only screwed-up one in the room.

"Fair enough."

* * *

><p>A while later, Dean is almost asleep when Castiel's voice suddenly sounds into the darkness.<p>

"He's a writer," he says. Dean blinks up at the ceiling and rolls over.

"How's that?"

"My father. He's a writer. Somewhat."

Dean waits for it, studies the profile of Castiel's face. He doesn't know Castiel all that well- and it's kind of embarrassing, admitting that, when he's been stopping by and screwing the guy every few months for almost six years now- but he figures that can't be the end of it.

" 'Somewhat' a writer?" he prompts, when the silence continues. In a contest of wills, there's no telling who would win, but a good minute or two of awkward quiet can crack Dean like an egg. Castiel sighs.

"If he wrote movies, instead of novels, his would be those straight-to-DVD movies they show on nature and game show channels, to fill the after-midnight time slots without leaving it dead air."

Dean has the sudden, almost irrepressible urge to start laughing insanely. Castiel is quoting someone, that much is obvious, but to hear him make such a bitterly sarcastic comment is almost like hearing Barney start regaling his under-five audience with dirty limericks.

"Does he make money off this trash?" he asks, once the urge to giggle- and Dean has never before giggled and sure as hell isn't starting now- has passed.

"Sometimes. Not often enough."

There's still pain, hidden under the resignation and the distant disappointment. Dean hesitates, then shifts over and wraps an arm around Castiel's shoulders and pulls him in close. For a long moment Castiel tenses. Then he relaxes into the hold.

"Well," Dean mutters against his hair, "here's to us, and our deadbeat dads. We wouldn't be who we are without them."

* * *

><p>He leaves reluctantly, after about a week. He and Castiel fit together well, not just in bed but in general, and he's never relieved to put this town in his rearview mirror.<p>

The freedom, the ability to wander wherever he wants, to do whatever he wants, feels a lot less free this time. Sam's words bounce around in his head, taunting and jabbing. Dean has to stop himself, several times, from picking up the phone and shooting off a perfect comeback. Who the hell is Sam to say Dean isn't happy? How the hell would he know happy, anyways? Sam's definition comes with a white picket fence and two-point-three kids and that will never be Dean.

He's in the process of dialing, one of those times, and manages to skip past Sam's name on the Recent Calls list and chooses the next number down the line. He doesn't bother looking at it, and so his brain stalls out and he temporarily loses the ability to speak when he hears Castiel answer.

"Dean? Is something wrong?"

"Uh, no," he blurts, prodded by the concern in Castiel's voice. "No, I was just gonna call Sam and say something kinda stupid, and I called you instead."

"To say something stupid to me?" Castiel asks, and it takes Dean an embarrassingly long moment to figure out it's an honest question.

"No," he says, wondering when he'd forgotten that Castiel really doesn't do teasing, or humor of any sort at all. "I just needed someone to talk to that wasn't Sam."

He's never heard somebody's expression before, but he can now- in the silence, he can see Castiel's face, his brow furrowed and eyes questioning, head tilted slightly to one side.

"And you called me?" Completely lost now. Dean might as well have started speaking in Mandarin, for as well as Castiel is following him.

"Yeah," he says, wondering if it might not have been a better idea to have just yelled at Sam.

Dead silence. This is going so well.

"Look, I should probably-" Dean begins.

"Goodbye, Dean," Castiel says, and it sounds very permanent.

"Yeah. See you around."

* * *

><p>"Do you think I'm miserable?"<p>

Silence again. Castiel is very good at that.

"No," he says, finally. He sounds tired. Then again, it's four-fifteen, so he has reason to be.

"Do you think I'm happy?" Dean persists. He'd already called Ellen, who had yelled at him, and Bobby, who had hung up on him. Aside from Castiel, that was it on the short list of people who mattered.

"Sometimes," Castiel answers.

"Like when?"

"Dean, I have a class at eight."

"And don't say right after sex."

Castiel hangs up on him.

* * *

><p>"It's just something Sam said. At Dad's funeral."<p>

"Sam often says he doesn't know you as well as he would like. Perhaps he is misreading you."

"You still talk to Sam?"

"Yes."

"About what?"

"Not you."

* * *

><p>And so on.<p>

It becomes a habit, Dean calling Castiel about once a week, sometimes sooner. The conversation veers off-topic and wanders into other areas- childhood memories, old war stories, the weather. Just about anything is fair game. Dean does most of the talking, but that's only because Castiel is a natural-born listener, and so long as he's talking to a phone Dean can say just about anything to him.

Once he's over the shock of Dean calling him just to talk, Castiel proves more than adequate at it. It's comfortable and familiar, and Dean finds himself looking forward to the weekly call.

Then one day he's filling up the Impala's tank at a gas station in Michigan and a soccer-mom-minivan rolls up to the pump behind him. The mom gets out, looking frazzled and distracted, and says something to the kids Dean can see bouncing around inside the van.

It's Lisa. The mom. Dean feels a smile growing. Lisa the yoga instructor. Gumbi girl. He opens his mouth to call out-

A miniature Dean climbs out of the van, goes around to her. She hands him some money and Dean very distinctly hears the 'thanks, mom,' as the kid runs off to the gas station building. Lisa tracks him with her gaze, which snaps to a halt as she sees Dean.

Karma is such a bitch.

* * *

><p>"She says the boy is not yours?"<p>

Maybe it's weird, that he called Castiel in order to freak out, rather than his own brother. But it's Castiel's voice he needs to hear right now, even if there's something odd in his tone.

"She got a paternity test, but she could be lying," Dean says. "I mean, I'm not exactly dad material. I wouldn't want me hanging around."

"And are you?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he says after a long moment. "She's cool with it, so… why not?"

"Why not indeed."

"It's a trial basis," Dean continues. He's getting defensive, which is odd because Castiel is as coolly toneless as always. Maybe because of the general idea- _I'm doing for her what I wouldn't for you_.

Even Dean has to admit, he's kind of an asshole.

* * *

><p>Lisa doesn't let him move right in. She agrees- cautiously- to dating, and Dean gets himself a long-term hotel room and settles in for a wait.<p>

Sam is happy for him, and congratulates him repeatedly, until Dean feels vaguely like a dog that's just learned to not piss on the rug. On the other hand, Castiel is blank and bland. Dean fights his temper down there, reminding himself that Castiel has every right to be pissed at him, and really it's a miracle they're still talking at all.

It's a long slow build, with Dean making friends with Lisa's son Ben, and learning how to play nice with the other soccer moms who apparently know all about him, and swallowing his pride and driving the minivan carpool every other Saturday. It's a learning process, because apparently Dean has spent an alarming portion of his life Doing It Wrong, the 'it' in question being anything from dealing with bullies to cooking an omelet.

And it pays off- three months after the gas station scene he brings Lisa back to his hotel room, and a month after that she gives him a house key with the proviso of no sex if Ben's home, no matter how distracted he seems to be.

Dean no longer calls Castiel once a week. These days, he's lucky if he manages once every three weeks. He has nothing to say that doesn't feel like an insult, like he's telling Castiel he just isn't good enough for Dean. And Castiel is retreating into his shell, impossible to read and giving away nothing. He never did much of the talking but now he's doing none of it, and the long silences that have always littered their conversations are no longer comfortable.

Lisa asks him about the calls, finally, about six months after he moves in, and he shrugs.

"Just an old friend," he says, and feels the bitter taste of a lie.

* * *

><p>"You know, Dean, I don't think you even know what love is," Lisa yells at him one day, during one of their fights. They have a few, like any normal couple. "You certainly don't love me."<p>

She could have brained him with a dictionary and not gotten a more stunned response. He gapes at her.

"The hell does that mean?" he thunders, and she laughs derisively.

The fight lingers for a day or two until all is forgiven- fighting is so different now that he can't solve it by just driving away- but the sting stays, until Dean finds himself staring at the ceiling one night, replaying her words in his head.

"Something wrong?" Lisa asks sleepily, and he starts a little and looks down at her.

"You said I didn't love you," he says, after a moment. She pushes herself up so she's leaning over him, hair draping down like a dark silky curtain.

"Before you came out here, before you met us, did you break up with someone?"

"No," Dean says, honest and confused. She frowns down at him.

"Well, sometimes it feels like you're still holding on to someone else. You love me, I know you do." She lowers herself onto his chest, chin tucked against his neck, hair pooling around his shoulder and tickling his cheek. "But there's somebody else, and it hurts sometimes, to know I'm taking second place to someone."

"There is no one else," Dean insists, getting annoyed now, and Lisa laughs a little bit.

"Well, that's why I said you don't know what love is," she says, and won't explain no matter how much he asks.

* * *

><p>He's about three weeks shy of the one-year anniversary with Lisa when Castiel's phone stops working.<p>

If he were being perfectly honest, Dean would admit he's been expecting this for a while now. So he goes to the Impala- which is sitting in the garage under a tarp, because Family Man Dean drives a sedate new four-door now- and gets the green post-it out of the glove compartment.

He sits in the dining room with the lights off as he calls, for reasons he can't fully explain. Something about this feels very wrong.

"Hey, Anna, it's Dean," he says when she picks up the phone.

"Hello, Dean," she greets him, wary and guarded.

"Did Castiel get a new number?" he asks, feeling a bit lost.

"He moved. Almost a month ago, actually." Oh, definite hostility there.

Dean can't quite bring himself to ask after the new number. Something tells him he won't like Anna's response. Instead, he goes on the defensive.

"Look, I'm sorry if I hurt him-"

"_If_?"

"-_that_ I hurt him, all right? I just…" he sighs, leans his elbow on the table and covers his eyes with his hand. "I need to talk to him, please."

Anna sighs then, a sudden sympathetic sound, and Dean feels his hopes rising.

"I know you do," she says. "But I can't let you."

"What? Why not?"

"Because you're not good for him, Dean," she says, sounding honestly regretful over the fact. "For a while, he was happy. But now he's worse than ever."

He doesn't need to ask when that 'while' was. He knows- when he was calling once a week, actually talking to Castiel.

"Anna, I'm sorry, I just-" he cuts himself off. "He's still a friend, and I've been kinda crappy to him lately, and I don't know how to make it up to him."

"Yes, you do," she says, and he winces. "But you won't. I'm sorry, Dean."

And she hangs up on him.

Dean drops his phone to the table and swears under his breath, watching as the display goes dark. The light snaps on suddenly, and he starts and twists around to see Lisa.

"Uh," he says, graceful as always, wondering how much she had overheard. "I was just-"

He stops there, because she's giving him a sad little smile he's never seen before. She comes over to him, puts her hand over his.

"How much of that did you hear?" he asks finally.

"Enough." She pulls up another chair and sits down next to him, turning so she's facing him. "I'm going to do something that might seem a little harsh to you, but rest assured it's for the best."

"And?" Dean prompts.

"I'm breaking up with you," Lisa says, perfectly calm and straight-faced, as if she hadn't just yanked the world out from under his feet.

"What?" he manages to squeeze out after a few failed attempts. "Why? Because I slept with a guy?"

"No." She pauses, stops to consider for a moment. Finally she looks back at him. "When I was in high school, my sister's friend stole her boyfriend."

"What-?"

"Hush. My sister hid in her room for three days and cried, and I swore to myself I'd never do anything like that, to anyone. Except I did."

"You didn't. And this isn't high school."

"Exactly." Lisa picks up his phone and gestures at him with it. "The two of us, we'll get over each other. But it's been a year, and you're not getting over him."

Dean stares down at his phone. "You think he's the somebody else, huh?" he asks.

"This? This is love, Dean. The real thing." She drops the phone in his hand. "So go get him back."

"This isn't a Hallmark movie," Dean protests.

"Just because real life doesn't always end in 'happily ever after' doesn't mean it doesn't get it right every once in a while," she says, and right there Dean knows he's fighting a lost cause. Women and their mushy stories.

"You've got 'til tomorrow evening," she tells him as she gets up. "I'll see if I can explain it to Ben. And you will call and tell me how it turns out." It's not a request.

He's starting to understand this love thing.

* * *

><p>"You broke up with Lisa?" Sam demands, incredulous. He's not the first person Dean has called this morning- he'd taken another run at Anna and gotten nowhere.<p>

"She broke up with me, Sam, now focus. Where did Castiel move to?"

He's still at Lisa's place, because there's no point in leaving if it turns out he's going the complete opposite direction he should be. Lisa made pancakes while he half-begged Anna's forgiveness. Now she's sitting at the kitchen table with him, drinking coffee and looking far too amused at him.

"What did you do?"

"Castiel, Sam. Where is he?"

"Dean. What did you do?"

Dean groans, falls back in his chair. Lisa gets up to get him more coffee.

"I didn't do anything," he says. "She heard me talking about Castiel and told some story about high school-"

Then he's talking to air, because Lisa has just snatched his phone away.

"Sam, right? Yeah, this is Lisa." Pause. "He didn't do anything." Pause. "He loves Castiel, is all. And I won't be what broke that up." Pause. "More than he loves me. No, I don't blame him. I always knew he's a little slow when it comes to these things."

"Hey," Dean says in protest. She ignores him.

"So where is Castiel, then?" Pause. "Thanks, Sam. I'll have him call you." And she hangs up.

"Well?"

"Same place he's always been," she says with a frown, handing over his phone.

He takes his coffee in a travel mug and leaves the tarp that once covered the Impala folded neatly in the garage.

* * *

><p>Heading back into that town feels an awful lot like coming home, Dean finds. He's trying to remember why he ever left, and can never seem to come up with a good reason. And as soon as he sees the college, something else clicks in his mind.<p>

Lisa's right. He's pretty slow about some things.

* * *

><p>"So. Your own office and everything. Pretty snazzy."<p>

Castiel looks tired- exhausted, actually. His skin is paler and his hair in greater disarray than normal, and he has dark circles under his eyes. All that only brings the blue out that much more.

"Yes," he says, glancing around briefly. "I thought I told you about it."

"Yeah, no. Not really." Dean grabs the visitor's chair and sits down in it. He really should have figured it out sooner, and feels stupid for not having done so. "Professor now, huh?"

Castiel puts down the paper he'd been reading and looks Dean square in the eye. "What do you want, Dean?"

That voice rasping out his name is still one of the most erotic sounds Dean has ever heard. He forces himself to focus, reminds himself Castiel is still well within his rights to be pissed and unreasonable.

"To apologize. I was a dick."

Castiel frowns a bit at that. "You did nothing wrong."

This is going to be even harder than Dean had planned, what with Castiel's utter cluelessness. If Dean is a bit slow on some things, Castiel is dumb as a rock in the same regards. He can't bring himself to apologize for the phone calls, or abandoning him for Lisa, can't make himself drag any of that out and Castiel doesn't seem interested in it anyways. There are some advantages, Dean has found, to falling in love with a guy. The lack of emotional drama alone makes it worth it.

"I broke up with Lisa," he says finally, after another silence. Castiel blinks at him.

"Why? You were happy."

"No." And suddenly, Dean is angry. "No, I wasn't, and I'm sick of having people think they know what I'm feeling better than I do. If it hadn't been for Sam's crap, this wouldn't have happened in the first place."

Castiel is still looking confused, as if he has no idea what 'this' is.

"I'm sorry," Dean says again, words carefully measured.

"For breaking up with Lisa?"

"For being with her in the first place. Don't," he interrupts as Castiel starts to ask, "say anything. Just take it for what it's worth."

"All right."

"She thinks I love you." He blurts it out, machine-gun style, and is very proud that he manages not to stumble over the L word. Castiel goes even more still.

"Do you?" he asks, and Dean can't look at him.

"I've had three people today tell me how much of an idiot I am when it comes to stuff like this, but yeah. I'm pretty sure I do."

"Then why did you keep leaving?" Castiel asks, ruthlessly merciless, and it takes every ounce of Dean's self-control not to squirm.

"I don't know. It scared me, a little." He looks at Castiel now, because this isn't all on him. "Why didn't you ever ask me to stay?"

"Because you wouldn't," comes the simple, brutal answer. "And if I asked, you might not have come back. I took what I could get, Dean."

Dean hates himself a little bit right then, because Castiel is right, and hearing him say it so casually stings.

"And I'm… pretty sure I do too," Castiel adds, voice going quiet. It takes Dean a moment to figure out what he means by that, and once he does, staying in the chair so far away from him is asking far too much of him.

Once they break apart for air, Dean gives him a charming smile.

"So I'm gonna be in town for a while," he says. "You don't mind if I crash with you, right?"

"How long is a while? Because if you leave again-"

"Forever, Castiel. I mean forever. And I'm not leaving." He tries to kiss Castiel again but is stopped by a restraining hand on his chest.

"I can't go through this again," Castiel warns him, real fear in his eyes.

There's nothing Dean can say to that. So he kisses him instead, until Castiel relaxes and leans against him and hands start wandering-

"Homigawd!"

- and the door slams shut. Dean blinks at it.

"The hell was that?" he asks.

"The birth of a rumor," Castiel sighs.

"Does that door lock?"

"No, Dean." Castiel pushes him away, just enough for him to stand up. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket, gets one off the keychain and writes an address down on a pad of paper and tears off the top sheet to give to him. "I'll be home in two hours. You can wait that long."

Dean kisses him again, because he still looks like he needs it, and Castiel sighs against his lips.

"I was serious," he says.

"So was I. I'm not goin' anywhere." He swings the key around like a gunslinger with an old six-shooter before pocketing it. "Except home."

* * *

><p>He calls Lisa when he reaches Castiel's new apartment, like he'd promised. Then Sam, like Lisa had promised. Then he calls Anna and apologizes again, and this time she believes him.<p>

Then Castiel gets home, looking nervous and hesitant, and Dean kisses him until he's chased away all the fear. They skip dinner and head straight for the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way. They have seven years' worth of backlog, after all.

And later, much later, Dean admits to himself that Sam may have been on to something, with the miserable thing. There will be no kids, no white picket fence- Castiel looks properly horrified at the very idea- but he's finally happy, all the same.

And in the end, it's all that matters.


	3. Epilogue

WHY IS THIS SITE MADE OF SUCH FAIL.

I'm having issues, as you might guess.

Side note: For those who might not know, a TA is a teaching assistant. It tends to be an older student who's taken the class before. They do all the boring teaching work like grading tests and whatnot. They're vital in college, where classes reach the hundreds, and it isn't uncommon for students to know the TA better than the professor. One of my college professors once told me she would have gone into medical school and become a doctor if God hadn't invented TAs.

* * *

><p>"Yeah," Dean says, because he can't think of any graceful way to respond to this… offer. "Yeah, I'll think about it. I'm just gonna…" He gestures towards the door to his apartment. So close.<p>

The woman in front of him- and she is a looker, with legs that don't want to end and amazing green eyes- smiles at him as she turns away. And God damn, but once upon a time Dean would have followed her without hesitation.

This time, he flees to safety.

Castiel is there, naturally, and sticks his nose in the bags Dean's carrying before he even has them set on the counter. He fishes around for a moment, then produces the three-pack of highlighters- these days Dean doesn't even need to ask if they're needed, and most times can't even remember picking them up when he sees the cashier ringing them up at checkout- and turns to wander away. Dean's too used to it to be bothered by the dismissal, and instead tails after him.

"Hey, have you ever met the neighbor?" he asks, twice when it seems Castiel didn't hear the first try.

"Which one?" comes the distracted reply.

"Brunette, long legs-"

"Alicia," Castiel says, far too easily for Dean's liking. It took him three months to remember Ellen's name, but slutty neighbor Alicia he recognizes after half a description.

"Yeah. Kinda hot, huh?"

Castiel gives Dean a brief look. "I suppose so."

"She invited us to a threesome," Dean says, point-blank, because by now all he wants is some sort of a reaction.

"I suppose that would be the next logical step," Castiel muses, taking a letter opener to the plastic container holding the highlighters. Meanwhile, Dean's brain seizes up, and it takes him about two minutes to fight out a response.

"The next logical step after what?" he demands, voice tight and strangled, and gets an unconcerned glance from Castiel.

"She has expressed interest in me before," he says.

"She came on to you," Dean translates flatly.

"Yes. I have always turned her down. Last time, I reminded her about you."

"Thus leading to the next logical step." Dean rubs a hand over his face, turns away briefly. "Inviting me to the party. And people say romance is dead."

"I doubt romance has much to do with it," Castiel says, and Dean looks at him, really looks. He's sitting on the floor, barefoot and cross-legged, in a sea of papers. There's highlighter ink staining his fingertips and a long yellow line along one wrist from what Dean can only assume was a rebellious marker moment. He's wearing ratty old jeans with the hems reduced to frayed threads and the inner thighs worn away to almost nothing and a simple grey t-shirt that had most likely been Dean's before ninja clothes thief Castiel had stolen it. His hair looks like it hasn't met a brush in a week, and he's even more scruffy than normal. Dean really does love the guy, but yeah- romance probably took one look at him and excused itself so it could go laugh hysterically in the hallway.

Then Dean pictures Alicia's long legs wrapped around Castiel's waist, her nails scoring his back, and instantly the humor dies. He remembers the first time he'd seen those blue eyes, heard that rough voice wrapping around his name, that gut-punch of instant need that hasn't lost a single spark of intensity for all it's been nine years since he first felt it.

There have been others, in those years that Dean wasted. He doesn't know much about them, doesn't want to, but he does know that Castiel did not spend every night alone, waiting for Dean to roll back into town. But Dean doesn't know them, and as far as he's concerned, Castiel has only ever been his.

In three strides Dean is beside him, reaches down and hauls Castiel to his feet and against him, his back to Dean's chest. Castiel makes a surprised noise but Dean holds him there, one arm wrapped tight around his waist to keep him trapped.

"How long has she been _expressing interest_ in you?" Dean asks casually. He can feel Castiel shiver every time his breath brushes over Castiel's ear.

"Since I moved in," Castiel answers, leaning back into Dean.

"She's been hitting on you for over a year and you never bothered to tell me?" It's a bit surreal, really. Dean has seen a few of Castiel's students flirt with him, or rather, try to. This woman must be subtle as a sledgehammer. Somehow, the question gets misinterpreted, and Castiel goes rigid.

"I am perfectly capable of telling her no without your assistance," he says stiffly, and oh yeah, he's mad. Fortunately, this isn't one of those times where Dean has to play Guess What You Did Wrong This Time.

"I know," he says, and presses a kiss against Castiel's neck. "I know. I trust you." Apparently, it's the right thing to say. After a moment to judge Dean's words, Castiel abruptly relaxes back against him, even tilts his head a little to allow better access. "I just don't trust her. I mean, she hasn't taken the hint after this long, she isn't going to. And her next logical step may be slipping you a roofie."

He highly doubts it- he got the 'interested and open-minded' vibe from her, not 'obsessed and psychotic'. But Castiel is bad at reading people, and it scares him a little sometimes.

"Then I won't invite her over for coffee anytime soon," Castiel says, and Dean grins like he always does when Castiel gets sarcastic. "No, Dean," he adds as Dean tries to tug him towards the door. "I need to get this done."

Dean rests his chin on Castiel's shoulder and looks down at the mess at their feet. "Don't you have TAs for this?" he asks.

Two years ago, the only TA Dean had known had an 'and' in the middle. These days, the TA is one of the greatest ideas he's ever heard of. Last semester Dean had treated his favorite TA- that being the one who had solemnly promised Dean she would do her best to get Castiel home and focused on something other than work by a decent time every day- and her boyfriend to dinner at one of the swankiest restaurants in town.

"They don't do all the work. _No_, Dean," he repeats as Dean tugs more insistently, and Dean tucks his face against Castiel's shoulder to pout. He smells like coffee and printer ink and, very faintly, like Dean, because of the shirt.

Dean nips gently at the skin just above the collar, then again a little harder when he hears Castiel's breath catch. He slides a hand under Castiel's shirt- _his_ shirt- and spreads his fingers over Castiel's stomach and catches Castiel's chin with the other hand, tilting his head to just the perfect angle, still focused on his neck. He can feel Castiel's breath hitching, can feel the noises he's holding back in his throat.

"Take a break," Dean advises. "You've got time." And he knows this, knows for a fact Castiel takes Dean's interruptions into account when scheduling his time.

"Fine," Castiel says, gracelessly, humoring him. Then Dean finds a sensitive spot and Castiel gasps. He finds it again and Castiel shudders, leans back into him.

"Ask nice," Dean orders, and catches a flash of blue as Castiel rolls his eyes.

"Dean, I-" he starts, then interrupts himself with a broken-sounding moan when Dean bites that spot, rolling his head to the side and collapsing against Dean so suddenly he staggers. He chuckles a bit.

"Close enough."

* * *

><p>With Cassie, it had been make-up sex. With Lisa, it was lazy Sunday afternoons, where Ben was at a friend's house and they could take all the time they wanted with each other. With Castiel, it's whatever they want.<p>

Right now Dean wants to get that image of Alicia and Castiel out of his head.

"Why are you wearing my shirt?" Dean asks, once they reach the bedroom- and that takes some skill, getting that far without allowing an inch of space between them- and collapse across the bed. He rolls the hem of the shirt between his fingers.

"I like it," Castiel says breathlessly, squirming a little as Dean uses his other hand to work Castiel's jeans down. "It's soft."

That it is. Dean skates his hands up Castiel's ribs, helps him get the shirt off, and gently places it aside rather than simply tossing it on the ground. Then he shifts back up to Castiel's neck, nipping and licking at that one spot, and the hands working on his clothes stutter to a halt. He's going to leave a mark, he knows, and somehow can't bring himself to care.

"What would you have done if I'd said yes to Alicia?" he asks, tracing his fingertips over the abused skin, and Castiel actually laughs.

"It bothers you that much," he says.

"No," Dean denies instantly. He kisses the growing bruise in apology, because he knows it has to hurt by now. "Maybe."

And Castiel laughs again. Dean cuts him off by kissing him, fiercer than normal, and Castiel yields to him. He goes back to fighting with their clothes, breaking the kiss only long enough to take his shirt off.

"Glad you find it amusing," he says against Castiel's lips. Then he wraps his hands around Castiel's wrists, pinning them above his head. "Stay," he orders, and those big blue eyes blink at him. Still, when he lets go and moves away, Castiel does as ordered. Dean turns and gets the lube out of the bedside drawer. When he turns back, Castiel is watching him with anticipation in his eyes.

Castiel has always been up for just about anything- sex in his campus office is the big no-no, although Dean's still working on him about it- but there's nothing he likes better than simple, dirty sex, with Dean inside him, and Dean certainly has no complaints about that. He settles himself between Castiel's legs, then reaches up for a pillow and slides it under his hips.

"Remember," he says, holding Castiel's left hand down briefly as he kisses the bruise on Castiel's neck.

He slides into Castiel with little preparation. Castiel tenses briefly, face tight, but he nods when Dean starts to ask if he's all right and shifts his hips a bit, finding a more comfortable position. After a moment he breathes out again, which Dean takes as tacit permission to start moving. He rocks his hips, shallow little thrusts, trying to find the best angle, and knows he's found it when Castiel gives a sudden jerk and a sharp gasp.

Dean smiles a bit and rocks his hips again, another shallow thrust, and Castiel moans. His hands fist in the bedspread above his head, but they don't move, and Dean rewards him with longer, deeper strokes. After a moment Castiel hooks his legs around Dean's waist and that is just perfect, and Dean drives into him hard enough that Castiel cries out.

He settles into a rhythm, for a moment. Castiel squirms and pants and moans- he's one of the most vocal people Dean's ever slept with, even though he never says much. Then his right hand moves, an aborted motion, and Dean stops. He takes Castiel's hand and puts it back, holding both wrists with one hand. Castiel whines and twists, tightening his legs around Dean's waist in an attempt to get him moving again, but Dean waits.

"Don't move," he says to Castiel, who closes his eyes and nods. Dean keeps a hold of his wrists when he starts moving again and Castiel moans and arches up into him. Their mouths find each other, a long leisurely kiss, and Dean picks up the tempo a bit, Castiel trapped beneath him and encouraging him with noises swallowed by the kiss.

Then Castiel breaks away and puts his face against Dean's neck, panting. "Dean," he says, hoarse and broken and Dean loves that sound more than any other in the world. "Dean, please."

They're both so close Dean can taste it. He presses a kiss against Castiel's hair and reaches between them with his free hand. Castiel makes a noise like a half-strangled scream when Dean wraps his fingers around his cock, and bucks up off the mattress, and if anything the new angle is even better. Dean moans now and releases Castiel's hands to hold his hip, supporting the new position, and thrusts into him hard and fast.

They come at the same time, or close enough to it that Dean can't tell the difference.

* * *

><p>After a while, when the after-sex glow is wearing off and Dean is contemplating getting up, he glances over and sees Castiel tentatively touching the bruise on his neck.<p>

"Sorry about that," Dean offers. Castiel gives him an unconvinced look.

"Are you?" he asks, and Dean smirks.

"Nah, not really." He smiles at the ceiling. "It was that or write my name on you with a highlighter."

"Please don't," Castiel says, sounding pained by the idea. After a long moment he rolls over and regards Dean. "Why do Alicia's advances bother you so much?"

"Jealousy, Castiel," Dean answers. "One of those irrational human emotions you don't ever seem to have to deal with."

"You have nothing to be jealous of, Dean," he says, and Dean feels a disgustingly maudlin warmth spread through his chest. He pulls Castiel close, tucks an arm under his shoulder and tangles their legs together. It's comfortable and familiar and Dean can't imagine trading it for anything. Certainly not for a cold empty motel bed and another thousand miles on the Impala's odometer.

"She scares you, huh?" he asks, amused despite himself, and Castiel tenses.

"She does not scare me," he snaps, all righteous indignation, and Dean chuckles. Strong, self-confident women, Castiel has no issue with. Strong, self-confident women who are interested in him evoke a quiet, wide-eyed panic. The memory of the one time Dean had seen it still has the power to make him laugh.

"You seem oddly confident in me," he says. "Most people would think, I'm me, she's a hot chick…"

"You said you were staying forever," Castiel replies steadily. "It was the first promise you ever made me."

Dean instantly starts racking his memory, trying to find if he's right. As he does so, Castiel rolls away and gets up, picking up his clothes- well, his jeans and Dean's shirt. He pads out of the room, off to go back to whatever he'd been doing. Dean gets up a few minutes later and pulls on a pair of pants, heads into the kitchen to get himself some coffee. Then he heads back into the home office to watch Castiel try to understand his students, always an entertaining pastime.

* * *

><p>Three months later, Dean gathers up a few important things, tosses them into his car, and starts driving. The 'where' doesn't matter, although he's thinking one of the Plains states, because he really wants to roll down his windows and start singing and those flat open roads are made for that. He'll be back before August, that's all that matters.<p>

Castiel, stuck in the passenger seat, complains about what basically amounts to a kidnapping, and twitches at Dean's choice of music, and stares at his truck stop burger like he's afraid it's going to eat him instead of the other way around. They find out the hard way he can't read a map to save his own life. They get kicked out of a hotel after nearly give some little old lady a heart attack when she tries to get on the wrong elevator.

They're back before August, like Dean promised. It's two months before Dean can coax Castiel anywhere near his car, for fear of Dean just taking off with him again.

The following summer, they do it again.

* * *

><p>finis<p> 


End file.
